


Gambling For Precious Things

by NxCryptids



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Author regrets nothing, Falling In Love, Height Differences, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mairon is a bitch boy, Modern AU, Precious is a petname, at least one person dies but its kind of funny, bad description, bitch boys in love, lovingly harsh banter, mairon helps him commit felonies, melkor can surpisingly cook, melkor commits felonies, melkor has an unhealthy obsession with shiny objects, melkor is a bitch boy, mentions of drinking and drunkenness, mentions of gambling, rated m for trashmouth and future graphic violence, seduction of mairon, shameless chaos, tags may be added or changed, takes place in the south but racism and homophobia do not exist, the weather is just too hot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22448206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NxCryptids/pseuds/NxCryptids
Summary: In a modern town in the deep south surrounded by sticky humidity, Mairon works for Aulë's artisan jewelry and metalworks shop. One day, as if by fate, he meets local underground casino owner and well-known breaker-of-the-law Melkor Bauglir. They're both bastards. They fall in love. Chaos ensues.This will be an interesting ride.
Relationships: Canon Ships - Relationship, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor & Sauron | Mairon, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon, ill add more when i write more
Comments: 29
Kudos: 77





	1. in the heat of it all

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first fic in literal years so I'm not quite confident in my creative writing skills- but I suppose why not give it a shot! I just love these two so much and wanted to write something for them in a modern setting. 
> 
> Some of the things in this fic stem from personal experiences and some places are in fact inspired by places around where I've lived. What those things and places are is up for you to figure out.
> 
> Anyway! I hope you enjoy your read and let's just see how this goes

It was hot. 

Not that Mairon necessarily minded the heat that usually came along with living his day to day life in the south. In fact, the man usually _reveled_ in it. It was times when the sun was burning down when he felt most alive. Most himself. Most real. His soul felt like a flame in the heat and that flame is what fueled him and his undeniable charisma. Many said that he held his head higher in the intense warmth and it wasn’t something he could necessarily deny. 

However, the heat of this day was different. Humidity filled the air with sick satisfaction and moved to suffocate the very life out of Mairon. As if the horrid asphyxiation wasn’t bad enough on him, it also did its damage to his ego. While the brightness from the rays of sunshine would have normally transformed and illuminated his hair into a brilliant amber flame, the wetness of the air caused his flowing locks to wilt and stick to his freckled skin like a drenched towel. There was no hair product on the shelf that could rescue him from the villain that was the humidity of Arda. Dammit, he was miserable and doomed. 

Groaning, he lifted his head from the front counter of the shop and struggled to untangle his hair tie from his rows of bracelets. To his horror, the elastic gave away with an uncomfortably loud _SNAP._

_Shit._

_Wonderful. Just perfect._

At this point, all hope of keeping back his dissatisfaction was lost along with his poor hair tie. 

“ _Fucking hell- Why? Why me?_ ” He hissed, a be it a bit too loud, warranting an eyebrow raise from Curumo who just so happened to have the misfortune of walking in from the back of the store to witness one of Mairons personal mini hissy-fits. 

“Dare I ask what the cause of the profanity is this time, Mairon?” Curumo asked, amusement oh so bravely letting itself known in his voice. 

Mairon shot him a harsh glare, but the exhaustion from the dampness wilted the usual flare of hatred that usually hung behind his angry eyes. “Nothing.” He grunted, swatting off the broken hair tie from the counter like an overgrown cat. “Everything’s just fine. It’s fine. Now could you go make yourself useful and get the fan from the front and bring it here? Preferably pointing it at me?”

Curumo was perceptive if not anything else and was quick to notice the broken tie and was swift to piece it with the muggy weather and his coworker’s more-difficult-than-normal attitude. A small smirk pulled at his lips. Nevertheless, he felt that complying with Mairon’s less-than-polite request was infinitely better than suffering through his incessant bitching. 

Right.  
Fan it was. 

Looking nothing short of miserable as Curumo hauled the rattling machine over, Mairon watched. It was only when the flowing air reached the man’s pale face did he breathe an audible sigh of relief. He was practically melting into current. Finally, he could _breathe_ again. Thank fuck.

“You know, Mairon,” Curumo hummed, oh so boldly trying to interrupt Mairon from his self-indulgent cooldown, “You could just cut your hair. It would save you a lot of pain. I can’t imagine how awful that red sweaty mass of damp fluff feels against the back of your neck.”

Mairon grunted. 

“It helped me.” He tried again. “It will probably do a world of good to you.”

“And I’m not weak like you, Curumo.”

Ahhh. There it was. The bite in his voice was back. Perhaps the fan was a mistake. 

“Besides,” Mairon hummed, “Aulë said the AC will be repaired by the end of the week and it’s not like every day is so disgustingly humid.” 

“Knowing the repair companies in this town, ‘the end of the week’ could be anywhere from the actual end of the week to two years from now.” 

Mairon couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he took to continue to satisfying himself, letting the cool air pull him back to comfort. There was nothing now but the noisy rattling of the rusty fan and the static of the radio trying its best to stream the crackle of indie music through its ancient speakers. 

Curumo had since gone back to work straightening out the jewelry stands and setting out new inventory when Aulë returned from his late lunch. The image before him was nothing that he wasn’t used to. Mairon had an obvious tendency to let his grouchy prima donna attitude show through and Curumo decided to take silent (or not so silent) amusement in it. Even without words, the store owner could easily tell that the current scene was no different. He had known his two employees long enough to read the situation in a blink of an eye. 

“Ahhh so I see Mairon has been giving attitude again?” Aulë chuckled, voice sounding as warm as the forges of which he used to craft the store’s inventory. “You’re lucky there are no customers right now.”

At least, he _hoped_ there were no customers to witness… whatever the hell had happened. It wouldn’t have been the first time patrons had been so unlucky to have been subjected to seeing the redhead’s wrath. 

“It’s 3:30 in the afternoon on a Wednesday.” Mairon spoke, not bothering to even look towards his boss, “Nobody is going to be here.”

Deciding that was fair enough (as well as not feeling up to discussing Mairon’s obvious attitude problem with him at this moment), Aulë took a seat in an antique-looking wooden chair that sat next to the check-out, its cedar wood creaking beneath him in protest. Dark strands of hair fell in his face and Mairon silently envied the hair tie that kept back his boss’s umber locks. Unlike Mairon, Aulë seemed to be unphased by the humidity. Perhaps it had something to do with growing up in the south, but still, that in itself seemed unlikely when it came to weather such as _this_. Aulë’s usual ponytail seemed to be more for aesthetic appeal and ‘workshop safety’ than to combat the dreadful humidity- and seeing as he wasn’t currently wasn’t in the workshop, it seemed to Mairon that the hair tie was something that could be easily spared. 

In one quick tug, the tie was snatched and the rest of Aulë’s dark hair fell to his shoulders. Dark eyes narrowed on his employee, innocently tying up his hair into a messy bun with a smugly pleased expression plastered on his face. 

“You do realize you just could have asked for a ponytail holder and I would have just given you one that wasn’t _just_ in my hair.” Said Aulë, digging though his worn pockets for another tie. 

“And how was I supposed to know you had more?”

“I always have more, Mai.”

“My names Mairon.”

“And _you_ stole my ponytail holder like some sort of magpie.”

“Right.” 

Aulë let out a soft sigh that seeped through his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no hope of having any sort of normal conversation with Mairon. He had learned that long ago.

“Maybe now would be a good time for you to go on your break.” Suggested a voice from behind Aulë. Soon, Curumo was pulling up his own chair. “Come back when you’ve fully cooled off. Maybe seek out a place with actual air conditioning.”

Aulë seemed a bit sheepish about the last part but overall agreed with his employee with a nod. “Sounds like a good idea. Why not get yourself an iced coffee? There’s that new coffee shop down the street that Yavanna swears by, and I know you both have similar tastes when it comes to drinks. Why not go there?”

Mairon ruminated a bit on the suggestion, thinking back to the few times had gone out for drinks with Aulë, Yavanna and Curumo and the many times he and Yavanna had oddly dittoed on their orders. While coffee wasn’t exactly the same as alcohol, it was still a fair proposal. Even if the coffee was shit, there was no downside to sitting in an air-conditioned coffee shop for a half hour. 

“Fine.” said Mairon with a small shrug, already reaching for his wide-brimmed sunhat under the counter. While sunscreen was always something that he wore, his skin was still pale and incredibly susceptible to burning. He’d take whatever precautions he could have. 

He was at the door in an instant, sliding on a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses and he was gone. 

\-------------

He wasn’t even a full ten seconds into his walk when Mairon started to regret his decision of leaving the fan behind. The humidity felt so much worse now that he was directly feeling the heat of the midday. Perspiration was already rolling down his porcelain skin and suddenly he felt very self-conscious. Not that people would judge him of smelling of sweat and sunscreen on a day like today- but still, he had a personal reputation to uphold. If people didn’t automatically feel a sense of self-loathing while being in his presence then what was the point? After all, he was nothing short of admirable. 

It wasn’t for another five minutes until he reached the coffee shop, greeted with the sweet embrace of air conditioning as soon as he was able to yank the heavy wooden door open. Hurriedly, he made his way into line. Even with his messy hair and ill-tempered composure, the various patrons of the cafe made the smart decision to part before him, giving him a clean shot to his destination. 

Ahh yes.  
Things were as to how they should be. 

Only was it when he had made himself comfortable in line was he able to get a good look at the interior of the shop. He was no interior designer, but it was a sight to behold. Like most buildings in the area, the cafe had a historical feel to it. The front counter, as well as the chairs and behind the bar, were all beautifully and intricately hand-carved from a brilliant rosewood that complimented the antique floor tiles splendidly. The light fixtures and the tables that were placed throughout the shop were comprised of stained glass and iron, and to Mairon’s trained eye he could tell that they were artisan crafted. The only thing that he wasn’t so fond of was the subtle floral paint job that decorated the walls, but that was just a personal opinion and something that he could easily look past. The rest, however, was enough to almost draw him into a trance- and perhaps it did, for in his attempt to get a better look at the interior design, his feet seemed to move on their own, backing into the patron behind him.

Despite it being undeniably his own fault, Mairon immediately went into defense mode. 

“Hey! Mind fucking watching it?” He snapped threateningly towards the man before him- whose features were now taking on an understandably exasperated expression. 

It only took a second or two for Mairon to admittedly regret his outburst. Despite never talking to him before in his life, Mai _knew_ who he was. 

The features were indisputable. The towering frame. The long ink-black hair that seemed to absorb all light like some sort of void. The piercing blue eyes standing out like a chilling beacon against the unnaturally dark circles and almost corpse-like skin tone. 

Melkor was his name and he was known for his… less than legal activities, most notably being running an upscale underground casino. That being said, the police and investigators never were able to glean enough evidence to prove this… Or perhaps he was just seducing them. Who knows. But the fact that he hadn’t gotten caught made him all the more terrifying. It didn’t help that he supposedly ran an actual five-star restaurant as a _storefront_. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Melkor’s lips pulled into a smirk and spoke, his voice a deep rumble of amusement, “Awfully _strong_ words for someone that forgot to drink their milk as a child, don’t you think?”

It was at that moment that Mairon’s mouth went desert dry and he found himself sputtering for an answer and feeling very self-conscious. There wasn’t much about his appearance that bothered him- save for his height. The little shoot back that Melkor dealt to him did more damage than he would like to admit. He fought for worlds, anything to make the _towering goth fuck_ before him to regret even looking at him. But it was all at a loss. Melkor soon turned away, smirk oh so smugly plastered onto his face. It was too late now. 

Mairon spent the remainder of his time in line, silently simmering in anger and refusing to look anywhere but at Melkor. It would have been a lie if he wasn’t playing out little alternate ending fantasies in his head in which he publically humiliated Melkor and would have the town laughing at him. Were they realistic? Perhaps not. But they were still fucking enjoyable. 

Time ticked on and Mairon was thankfully able to tune out the world around him until it was at long last his turn to order. With a sigh of relief, the ginger swatted some of the loose strands of hair that had fallen to his face as he stepped up to meet the barista. 

He opened his mouth to order and-  
“Venti Chocolate-y Iced Mocha forrrrr…. ‘ _The angry redhead twink with the floppy hat?_ ’” Rang a voice as clear as day from the pick-up station. 

All the blood rushed from Mairon’s face before it all flooded back in crimson red. Hot embarrassment bubbled up in his chest like an overflowing stove pot as his eyes desperately darted around the cafe in some sort of hope to find some sort of other redhead that was coincidentally wearing a similar hat to himself. To his absolute horror, there wasn’t even so much as another redhead in the space. 

_Shit._

“O-oh… I suppose that’s for me” He squeaked before excusing himself and shielding his face with the brim of the hat as he made for his drink. 

_Fucking hell._

How could this happen? Especially to someone as gorgeous as him? Did these things happen to gorgeous people? Did somebody order for him? 

His trembling hands picked up the cool beverage and he narrowed his eyes and scanned the cafe until they fell upon his number one suspect relaxing and leaning back in a booth in the corner looking more self-satisfied and content than any man should. The gothic fuck and smartass bastard himself. 

_Melkor._


	2. Mutually Assured Bitchery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon confronts Melkor. The seduction of Mairon begins with banter- if you can even call it that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two already- It came out so quickly because it turns out that I just really like writing Melkor.

“Do you want to perhaps explain _this_ to me, smartass?”

“ _Hmm?_ ” Melkor looked up from his own cold brew to the frazzled redhead looming beside the table like a tiny vulture, holding out his drink to him and looking every bit as pissed as he was ten minutes ago. A sly smirk pulled at the corners of the dark-haired man’s mouth. 

“That, my dear, is a Chocolate Iced Mocha-”

“I fucking know what it is!” Mairon hissed, shoving the drink closer to the point where Melkor could practically feel the cold radiating from it. “I want to know why you pulled that shit and ordered for me and why you fucking called me a… an angry- fuck... An angry-” He struggled, more heat traitorously rising in his face. What the fuck did he call him again? 

“An angry redhead twink?” Melkor asked, arching a brow before taking a long sip from his straw.

“Yes, _that._ ” 

“Okay, but first,” Melkor gestured to the booth across from him nonchalantly, “take a seat before you combust. I assume that dying of overexertion in a coffee shop is not how you plan to go.”

Mairon bit his lip, heat bubbling up inside once more. He could see that bastard’s smirk widen. He wanted to kill him and parade his body through the streets. Preferably full of sharp objects. If he were to kill someone and let the world know, that’s how he would go about it. 

Nevertheless, for some _ungodly_ reason, he took his seat across from Melkor. 

“Alright then,” He breathed shakily, only _just_ holding back his rage, “spill it, asshole.”

To his utter annoyance, Melkor chuckled, the sound resembling the distant roll of thunder in the distance- the indicating warning of a coming storm. Mairon silently worried if the had subjected himself to a different kind of storm.

“You just looked so bone-tired and feverish and I figured that that was fucking with your temper and that maybe something like a nice free iced coffee would soothe your firey spirits.” Melkor hummed, swirling his cold-brew absentmindedly. Half lidded eyes were trained on Mairon. “Also, the name I gave was simply because I haven’t the slightest what yours is.”

“Well, you could have just _asked_ me,” Mai replied, his embarrassment melting away into exasperation.

“And what would your name be?”

“None of your fucking business.” he snapped. Melkor was silent. 

A few minutes ticked by, or perhaps it was only a few seconds. Either way, it had felt like an eternity. Melkor watched with mute interest as the man before him pretended to ignore him, scrolling through his phone and casually sipping at his mocha with disinterest. Old jazz music thrummed softly from the speakers overhead. Finally, Melkor spoke once more. 

“My names Melkor.”

“ _Oh, I know who you are_.” Mairon scoffed, not even bothering to look up. 

This seemed to coax out the dark-haired man’s ego as he leaned forward, expression nothing short of pleased. Black painted nails tapped at the table, a clear indicator of his excitement. Mairon had to restrain from rolling his eyes. How stereotypically goth was this man? Was it not enough to look like he had just crawled out of some Victorian grave, dawn an all-black blouse and trousers and apply some sort of smokey eye makeup? Assuming that that was eye makeup and not just a horrid lack of sleep. 

“ _I see you’ve heard of me._ ”

“Unfortunately.”

“Tell me, stranger, does my reputation precede me?”

Mairon’s vexed golden eyes met Melkor’s amused icy blue ones. His lips pulled back in a snarl as venom dripped from his words. “Oh, you’re _worse_.”

With that, Melkor erupted with laughter- practically deafening enough to shake the building. Mairon’s eyes widened with absolute terror as his body involuntarily shrunk back in his seat. 

Dear Lord, how could someone be so unashamedly loud? Did he feel no shame? _Could Melkor even feel shame?_

He did not know. But if he were to take a guess… Probably not. 

He could only pray that no one was watching and he did not have the strength to check if they were. Sitting across from some sort of cackling goth maniac and criminal was _not_ the type of attention he desired. 

At long last, the laughter died down and Melkor wiped a tear from his eye (without smudging the makeup, mind you) with a dying chuckle. 

“Oh- Oh I’m _honored_.” 

“Piss off.”

To Mairon’s surprise, in an instant, Melkor’s features shifted to something softer. Dare he say it, _gentler_. His suspicion rose and the dark-haired man’s eyes fell upon his ringed fingers. 

“So many rings for one man,” Melkor murmured fondly, diverting the subject with ease, “Is one of them perhaps a wedding ring? Or are you perhaps married to many people?”

If Mairon had been drinking his coffee, he would have choked. The question had caught him completely off guard. Sure he was expecting something but it wasnt…. _That._

“ _W-what?!_ ” He sputtered, instinctively reaching for the jewelry that adorned his left hand. “No! Don’t be stupid! I’m not married!” he cleared his throat, trying to compose himself once more. God, this day was turning out to be exhausting in so many ways. He needed a nap. “No. I just work at a metals and jewelry shop down the street. These are my own designs.”

Melkor’s eyes widened “You’re saying you made those?” It was more like a statement than a question, really.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Mairon hummed, feeling his chest well up with pride. He was always so proud of his work- even going so far as to keep a written record of how many times it was bought and how often it was complimented on. In secret, he would compare the records of his own work to that of Curumo, and even Aulë himself. Sure, it might not be a healthy past time, but it made him feel good and added kindling to his massive ego- an ego that the menace sitting across from him seemed to like toying with whenever he got the chance. “Every piece of jewelry you see before you is a personal work of art.”

Melkor couldn’t help but inch himself closer to inspect and marvel at it all. He hadn’t realized it before, but Mairon was embellished with a great amount of jewelry. Everything was so intricate and skillfully crafted and the soft golden hues glistened in the rays of the midday sun like embers from a flame. His vision traveled over every bracelet that caressed Mairon’s wrists to the thin elegant chained that held a small abstract pendant accompanying a shorter thin banded one to the various piercings that made their way around his ears. He had to mentally restrain himself from reaching out and touching it all. It was all so ethereal. _This man_ was ethereal. 

It was only when his eyes met with Mairon’s perplexed expression complete with large golden eyes did he realize that he had been staring for far too long. He coughed, straightening himself out and forced a disbelieving look accompanied by a smirk.

“I don’t believe it.” Said Melkor with a matter-of-fact tone. “I doubt that they’re even real gold. You likely just purchased them out of some catalog.”

Mairon’s ego was drained in an instant. Hatred was soon in its place. “How dare you,” He growled, “I worked so fucking hard on these. You have no idea how much I put into these, pissboy. How much I sweat and _bled_ for these.”

“Alright alright! I’m sorry-” 

“Meanwhile there you are known for your ‘five-star’ restaurant. HA! _Bullshit._ I doubt you can even cook. You probably blackmailed some professional chef to work for you and you took all of his credit. I know people like you. Climbing on the backs of others and crushing them into the dirt while others actually had to build up from nothing! And what are you? Probably some rich mama’s boy capitalist fuck with no talent or skill.” 

By the time Mairon had finished his tirade, his chest heaving and wheezing with each breath, he was disgusted to find that amusement and perhaps even _satisfaction_ was written all across Melkor’s face. _Oh, he was so close to slapping him._

“I must say,” Melkor hummed, leaning back in his seat leering at the redhead, “You seem so sure of those accusations. That being said, I’ll make you a proposition.”

Mairon arched an eyebrow, dread pooling silently in the pit of his stomach. Whatever the proposition was couldn’t be good… or normal for that matter. “...Oh?”

“You’re so sure that I'm void of all talent and that I’m just some sort of conman, right? How about I prove you wrong? This Friday. 6 pm. I’ll make you dinner and I promise it will be to your liking.”

Mairon was about to be sick- whether it be from the mere thought of seeing Mr. Tall Dark and Nasty again or from being taken so off guard by the request, he didn’t know. “You… Want me to come eat at your restaurant?”

“Pffttt- Absolutely not.” Melkor snickered, stirring his drink with his straw. His eye had become half-lidded again, and frankly, it sent chills up Mairon's spine. “If you ate _there_ , you wouldn’t know for a fact if I had actually cooked it or not. No no no. I’m suggesting you come to my house.” 

Mairon could only stare at him in shock as he tried his best to process what had just been said. “Are you… Asking me on a date, Melkor?”

“Perhaps.” 

Mairon could see the edges of Melkor’s smile pull back wider by the second. He swallowed hard. “I’m so tempted to say no.”

“Is it because I embarrassed you in public?”

“That and maybe it’s due to the fact that I’m not sure how I feel about dating a guy who looks like some sort of Dracula rendition.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The dark-haired man purred with mirth- and then waited. 

It was clear to Mairon that it was some sort of answer that he wanted, and while rejecting him seemed like the obvious thing to do, he was always one to think over bigger decisions. While it was true that Melkor was a pain in the ass, it was equally as true that they didn’t start out on the best terms- It was Mairon who made the first move by blowing up in Melkor’s face despite it actually being his own fault. Now that he considered it, the experience could have been just as embarrassing for Melkor as it was for him and that Melkor could just be good at hiding emotions. Also, there was the fact that while most of this encounter he had felt a burning inferno of rage, interacting with the dark-haired man felt like a breath of fresh air. It was no secret that he was hard to handle and as a consequence, most of his past relationships came to an early end. Meanwhile, this bastard was able to roll with it and find his own amusement in it as well as somehow managing to humor him with his similarly snarky comebacks. If they started fresh with this ‘date’ and managed to enjoy each other’s company then the future of their relationship would seem promising. And if not- then he could just avoid Melkor and break the relationship off entirely. Plus, He really was curious how good Melkor’s cooking really was. 

“Fine.” 

“Huh?” Melkor, blinked, ever slightly shaking his head as if he had awoken from a trance.

“I said fine. I’ll go on your little date. I’ll try your food. I’ll play your little game.” Mairon slid over his phone to Melkor. Satisfaction stood behind his eyes as he took in the man’s dumbfounded expression. He really didn’t think that this was going to work, did he? “Give me your number and I’ll give you mine.” 

In a poor attempt to hide his giddiness, Melkor snatched the phone and quickly punched his number into Mairon’s contact list before handing it back to Mairon with his own phone. He cleared his throat. “You know, I’m going extra lengths to prove myself with my cooking. I don’t just to this for anyone.”

“Mmhmm” said Mairon as he typed in his own contact information with disinterest. 

“Why not prove yourself with me? Why not show up Friday night with a brand new one of these?” Delicately, he took one of Mairon’s hands, index finger tapping eagerly at one of the rings. Mairon froze, blushing once more- except this time he wasn’t if it was out of embarrassment. 

“You want me to just…” his voice cracked, “ _Make_ you a ring?” God, it sounded so intimate. 

Melkor winked. 

Mairon screamed internally. 

“Yes, of course. It doesn’t have to be made from anything expensive. Just make me something that you think that I would like. We’re both giving and we’re both getting here. We’re both proving out points by doing something for the other. It’s like a mutually assured date”

Mairon cursed his body for betraying him by pulling his mouth into a smile. “So it _is_ a date, then?”

“Yes, I thought we agreed on that.” 

Mairon let out a soft hum. Well, he supposed something made of cheap materials wouldn’t hurt. Plus it would be another way to show off his skill. Someone as wealthy and well known as Melkor wearing his jewelry would be good for business.

“Ok.” He murmured, shooting Melkor a mischievous look, “Mutually assured date it is.”

Melkor could not believe his luck.

He was just about to open his mouth again as the timer went off on Mairon’s phone. The redhead sighed with annoyance. His 30 minutes were up and he wasn't sure if he was relieved or pissed. 

“Ahhh, Welp. That’s my call to leave.” Mairon grunted, pulling himself up to his feet. He glanced over to Melkor and the gothic man silently mourned over the loss of his hand in his. “Text me whenever, pissboy. I’ll respond later.”

Melkor watched as the beautiful, angry, perfect stranger departed from the cafe and back out into the city. A whistful sigh escaped his lips as he pulled up his phone and slid the screen over to the contacts. He didn’t even know his name-

But he would fix that. 

\----------------

It was a painfully long trek back to the shop despite it being a mere five minutes. Mairon tried his best not to dwell on his interaction in the cafe with Melkor nor on what the future had in store for him. Thankfully, by the time he had reached Aulë’s store once more, his mind had been reconquered by the haziness of humidity. 

Groaning loudly, he plopped back down in his rightful place behind the checkout. Wearily deciding to check his messages once more before getting back to his job and the inevitability of evening business, he pulled out his phone. 

There was one text.

Melkor, 3m ago: Oh so your names Mairon! That’s adorable :D <3

There was an audible squeak from Mairon, all the haze from his mind vanished. Perhaps Aulë and Curumo heard from the back. Maybe not. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. There was only Melkor and his smart ass. Mairon’s fingers flew furiously across the keyboard. 

Mairon, now: Just shut the fuck up. 

Down the street, he could almost hear Melkor cackling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melkor using dumb emojis is a headcanon that you can pry from my cold dead hands.
> 
> I'm a bit iffy on this chapter but I tried my best and that's what matters!
> 
> Yet again, comments and kudos give me life! I'm open to constructive criticism

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just have to embarrass the cute angry twink who yelled at you in a coffee shop. that's totally how you start a relationship. It's fine. this is fine. 
> 
> ALSO!!!! comments give me life! Especially since this is my first work! I'm open to any suggestions!


End file.
